


Okay.

by NervousAsexual



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Found Family, Kinda, Major Illness, Recovery, Stream of Consciousness, Trans Character, Winter, implied gore, light headcanon, not really - Freeform, nothing graphic, post-Royal Physician, the great millenial trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:38:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: After the events of the Royal Physician mission, the Loyalists' plans are stalled by the sudden arrival of winter storms. They all bunker down in the Hounds Pit, and even Samuel has to admit it's an improvement.As the winter rolls on Samuel begins to get sick and does not improve. He worries not only for himself but for the Loyalists as well. To let them down would be unforgivable. They're like his family.





	1. Chapter 1

Under a blanket. Snow. Big ideas. Big dreams. Play his part.

Okay. Called his bluff. Moves indoors, to a bunk over Cecilia. Everything he owns in a cubby.

A bathroom? A tub? Unfamiliar. Lydia brings buckets of hot water. Steam rises from the tub. She leaves him.

Peel off layers of clothes. They smell worse than he does. Swish a hand in the water. Outsider! Too hot. Let it cool a moment. One foot. Both. Lowers himself in. Feels... feels good.

Lydia appears (he ducks low in the tub), snatches his clothes. Would stop her, but, of course, naked. Sees an eye briefly through the lock. Eye quickly leaves.

Dunks head under. Dunks again. Does not come up. Warm. Good.

Rags. Soap. Scrubs himself. Scrubs hair. Goes under again. Alright. Alright. Better than his shelter in the yard.

Water goes cold. Still no clothes. A knock at the door. Lydia, with a towel. Says that Corvo is awaiting his turn.

Adjusts the towel to the best of his ability. Not so much for dignity. Decency, more like.

Brush past Corvo. Door is narrow. Fine. Heaves himself onto top bunk. Will wait for clothes. As long as it takes.

Falls asleep. Alright. Cecilia brings a tin of brined hagfish, hot cup of tea. Thank her. Lydia brings his clothes, still warm and smelling faintly of smoke. Put 'em on, best he can, under the covers. Back to sleep.

More snow. More cold. Piero moves in from his lab. Corvo comes down from his breezy attic. Havelock allows Sokolov to move into a boiler room.

Wallace joins them in the common room. Callista and Emily move into his room. Cramped. Warm but cramped.

Not a lot of food, not a lot of whale oil. Okay. Eats a lot of rats-on-sticks. Fine. Goes down to the sewers to find places where the ice has thinned. Catches hagfish for Emily.

Helps Cecilia and Lydia stuff rags into cracked walls, under doors, hang them over windows.

Not always good. Difficult to find places to be alone. Hears Emily cry some nights. Go back to sleep.

Can't sleep.

Snow drifts in the attic. On stairs. Falls through cracks in floor. So damn cold.

Would stop rats, you'd think, weepers. No. They don't cry long, at least.

Gets sick. So do the others. Fever. Sweating. Can't sleep. Wrapping self in blankets. Take to wandering. Sokolov the only one not sick. Ironic.

Wanders the hall. Knocks at Callista's, Emily's door. Corvo opens unto him. Emily is sick too.

Lays on rug before the stove. Blankets around him. Okay. Okay. Sleeps.

Wakes to Corvo and Emily beside him. Emily's lungs rattle. Corvo curls around her. His forehead touches Samuel's shoulder.

Alright.

Back to sleep.

Water.

Needs water.

Manages to crawl down to the bar. Glass of ale, watered down with hot snow, freshly boiled. Helps Lydia carry trays of glasses and food to the second floor. Forgets Sokolov. Of course.

Not sustainable, says Martin.


	2. Chapter 2

One day, a pain in his insides. Keeps quiet about it. Used to get cramps all the time. Nothing to worry about.

But it doesn't leave. Hard to climb into his bunk. Doesn't eat. Stops sleeping.

Appendicitis, pronounces Piero. Sokolov, brought upstairs at last, concurs. Must remove offending organ. Now, before sepsis.

No. Absolutely not. Does not want to be touched. Snow. Sick from the snow.

Do it, Havelock tells them. An old sailor who knows the water like the back of his hand is too big an investment. Do it now. Whether he wants it or not.

Sees them hauling buckets of hot water in. Knives from the kitchen. Cecilia scrubs the bathroom floor. Only place in the house with no snow.

Feels like waiting for his execution. A hug from Emily. Reluctantly retreats to the back of the stairwell and changes into a robe. Will be alright. Will be.

Must be.

Feels like vomiting as he comes back through the common room. No one looks.

Bathroom crowded. Sokolov to operate. Piero to assist. Corvo--why Corvo? Sees a broken sleep arrow, yellow-green liquid dripping into a bowl.

That's why.

Corvo helps him lie down on the wood floor. Thought occurs to him... he could die here. Tries to breathe. Only coughs.

Blankets. Lots of them. Piled on his chest. Stabbing pain inside. Would rather die.

Corvo squeezes his shoulder. Runs a finger, damp with liquid, along Samuel's lips. Bitter taste. Scared. Scared.

Sleep.

No.

Sleep.

Can't.

A few more drops of liquid. Can't move anymore. Not sleeping.

Not yet, Corvo says.

Piero puts more blankets across his legs. Still pain.

Sokolov: Now?

Corvo: Soon.

Pulling him in. Undercurrents. Riptides. Can't. Can't breathe.

Can.

Corvo?

Almost there.

Feels like snow around him. Quiet. Piero's cold, cold fingers through the cloth. Unknotting. Opening the robe.

As he finally lets go, Piero speaks. Only one word. Only from him.

He says, oh.


	3. Chapter 3

Coming back together. Awake. Throbbing head resting in Corvo's lap. Can barely see. Not the bathroom. Where?

Awake?

Squeezes Corvo's hand.

He is.

Cottony eyes make out the wallpaper, have to close again. Awake. Yes.

Piero crouching before him. Awkward glances.

Not appendicitis, he says. Ovarian cysts. Had to take out... had to take out almost everything.

No.

Ought to be fine now.

No.

Ought to, er, go now.

No.

World is dark. More blankets. Pain coming back.

Corvo leaning down. Whispering.

Whispering, me too.

Sleeps.

Again.


	4. Chapter 4

This time always the floor of Emily's room. A few times his bladder lets go as he sleeps. Humiliating. No one speaks of it.

For weeks, tired. No helping Lydia. No climbing into bed. Sleep. Until his head aches. Sleep.

You know what this means, Corvo whispers. No more unplanned visits from unwanted guests.

Okay.

Weeks turn to months. Spring comes. The others get over their colds, return to their own jobs. Samuel can't walk. Sits in a corner of Emily's room, letting her practice conjugating verbs at him.

At night, tries to walk with Corvo. Every night a little farther. In a few weeks of practicing they make it down to the garden. It's too far but alright. Follows Corvo to his shelter to see how it fared the winter.

Not great. Mud on the mattress. Cracks in one of the boats. Did not fall down, at least.

Moving back out? Corvo jokes.

Pains, inside. Okay. Shaky smile. No. Better stay indoors, at least for now. May lie down and not be able to get back up.

Hurts too much to walk. Corvo lifts him and blinks back inside. Dizzy. World lurches. Corvo takes him to the attic, puts him in his own bed.

Still breezy. Sleeps alright.

 

Takes a day to recover. Two days? Hard to tell. With help, comes down to the bar where the ale is less watered down. Scattered applause. Emily hugs him. Gives him a kiss.

Face is burning.

Havelock and Martin anxious to begin. Can't. Spring repairs to do. Maybe then.


	5. Chapter 5

Cecilia offers to help. Alright. Still difficult to walk far.

She says she used to take in sewing. Supported her family. Family died. People stopped caring about the mending. Would have starved, but Wallace hired her on. What about you?

What about me?

Family? Story? Where from?

The river, of course. Had always wanted a Navy commission. Things rarely work out as planned. Married young. Ferried. Fished. Wife worked in a bakery. Happy. For a while.

Children?

No. They had made plans, but... too complicated. Talked of adopting. Never did. Time goes just too fast.

Where is she now?

Dead and gone. Before the plague. Just here one moment, gone the next. Sad for a while. Plague came. Now here.

Sorry.

It's alright.


	6. Chapter 6

Cecilia is good with the boat. Not afraid of grease or hagfish or moving parts. Sweet girl. Young enough to be his granddaughter.

Martin suggests the idea. Havelock insists on it. No need to walk, only to pilot the boat. Has to be done tonight. Fine. At sundown on a chilly evening, head up the river. Don't say much--not much to say. Corvo never much for conversation anyway.

Finds a quiet spot in the canal and Corvo blinks off. Okay. Under his seat is a bundle Lydia handed him. Unwraps the black-dyed flannel. An apple. Half a loaf of bread. A vial of Piero's remedy. A drawing from young Emily. Barely visible in the weak light, but looks like a yellow cat.

Alright.

Tallboys are out tonight. Lies flat in the bottom of the boat, flannel over him. Ready to take off toward the mouth of the canal if he has to. Back grows damp. Okay. Careful to hold the food and the drawing above the water.

Hums a few choruses of Drunken Whaler. Needs to stay awake.

Leans over the edge of the boat. Splashes water onto his face. A little more awake. Stiff. Achy. No good.

Finally breaks down and takes the littlest sip of Piero's bootleg elixer. Tastes sour. Like river water. But less achy now. Okay.

Will be fine. Have to keep this up. Let the current carry the boat back, past the locks. It will be fine. Corvo will find him.

Sitting upright makes him sore. Wraps himself in flannel. Still sore. Lean over the edge of the boat. Still sore. Try to vomit? No. Sore anyway. Finally takes another small sip of the elixer.

Still. Sore. The wind cuts through the cloth. Does not want to be angry at Martin, Pendleton. Especially not at Havelock. But he was not ready. Sokolov had even said he likely wasn't ready.

The emptiness inside scares him. He has not looked. Knows it will be a massacre. How could it be otherwise? They cut out his insides on a bathroom floor with nothing but a common kitchen knife.

Tries a bit of the bread. It's cold. Hard to swallow dry. Chokes it down.

Puts a hand on his middle. Feels... loose. Remembers the blood and viscera. The stinging smell. Someone--Corvo?--washing the blood away. Wrapped in blankets. Placed on another. Carried that way.

They close the lock? Sits up, looks around. The wake from the closing gates rolls over the boat. Where is Corvo? Eyes comb the water. Anxiety makes him feel sicker. Finally sees a dark shape swimming just below the surface. Boat rocks as Corvo heaves himself onboard.

A little cold for a bath? he asks, trying to smile. Holds out Lydia's apple. Corvo tips up his mask, wipes at his face, and takes it from him.

Did they see. Do they know.

Corvo shakes his head.

Okay. A start. Engine hums, smooth as silk. Cecilia is quite a talent. He can make it back to the Hound's Pit. He can.


	7. Chapter 7

Havelock and Martin wait at the shoreline to debrief. Walk away with Corvo. Cecilia waits. Says hello.

Smile in return. Cannot make it up the stairs. Fine. Tosses bundle onto dry ground. Heaves himself out of the boat. Insides exploding. Can't even curl up. Just writhes.

Cecilia is gone. Maybe she spoke before leaving? All he can hear is blood in ears, rushing water, not sure which.

Drags himself. Up to the yard. Up four steps. Into his shelter.

One more sip of the elixer. Still sour. Another to be safe. Puts Emily's drawing safe inside the boat. Rolls onto the mattress, stiff with dry mud. Pulls flannel over his shoulders. Waits.

 

Hears... chewing. Rat's tail against his wrist. Huge, scabrous rat. Chewing at Emily's drawing. Move hand... shoo it away...

Cannot move.

Can't.

Help...

 

Smell of whale oil.

Grease.

River water.

Blanket scratching at bare skin.

Clank of footsteps on metal stairs.

Feigns sleep.

A voice humming. Closer, closer, then past. A clattering. Whoosh of a tank being filled. Footsteps again, now weighted down.

 

Poor dead Ursula sits at the foot of the bed. Pats his ankle.

Reaches for her hand. She smiles and looks away.

 

Struggles to breathe. Blood in his nose. Now-familiar sour taste in his mouth. Can't breathe. Spits. Liquid down his front. Hands hold his head still. More liquid. Choking.

I'm sorry but...

No. Can't breathe. Try to pull away. Can barely move

 

It is not Ursula at the foot of the bed.

Corvo?

Hmm?

Okay.

Alright.

 


	8. Chapter 8

As he starts to heal the worries emerge. Knows they should find another boat pilot. One who isn't so sick. One who can do his job. All the same... feels like family. Does not want to go.

Eats a meal with Emily and Callista. Sits for a long time with Corvo, only silence between them. Cecilia talks at him for hours--Wallace constantly brays at her to curtsy, to wear a skirt, to wash her face. Lydia brings a warm slice of bread, fresh from the oven.

Finally gathers up the courage to approach Martin, Pendleton, and Havelock in the bar as they pore over maps. Tells them... tells them he understands. Get a new sailor, before the regent can rebuild. Take Corvo to the Tower. Finish the job.

Pendleton looks nervous, but Havelock speaks.

Will not risk it, Havelock says. Samuel has proven himself to the cause. Another sailor would be an unknown quantity. Samuel is one of them--a Loyalist.

And though his insides feel torn and hurt and faintly, faintly anxious, he feels... proud.


End file.
